


Undisclosed Desires

by a_lanart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_lanart/pseuds/a_lanart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Life takes a roundabout route to get where it's going, and John Watson finds what he's looking for in an unexpected place. After he's tried the obvious, of course...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undisclosed Desires

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD, though this incarnation is the responsibility of a certain Mr Moffat and Mr Gattis (thanks guys!) and the BBC.  
> No copyright infringement intended, no profit made; this is just for fun!  
> Title from the song by Muse
> 
> No spoilers.

~*~

Undisclosed Desires

*

The first time John sees her is at a crime scene. It's messy and bloody and she appears to be in effect triaging people for the paramedics wearing pvc and a corset. He finds it kind of hot. Sherlock is off doing what he does so John continues to watch her from a distance, as she moves from person to person; he doesn't want to interfere when she seems to have everything under control. It means he's well placed when she yells at him.

"Watson!" 

His eyes are on her patient immediately as he runs toward her, his stance obviously betraying his question, even as he wonders how she knows his name. 

"Tension,"1 she says. He shouts for the closest person – who just happens to be Lestrade – to get the paramedics NOW.

They save the guys life.

He's euphoric and there's too much adrenaline coursing round his body and even though her electric-blue hair and the pvc are less than pristine she's still kind of hot; care and competence shining bright beneath the fetish gear.

They fuck in the disabled loo of the club as there's more room in there. He never asks her name and she doesn't tell him.

Sherlock is talking to Lestrade when he gets back outside but breaks off when he spots John and glares.

"Really, John. At a crime scene?" John shrugs, gives Lestrade a quick grin and follows Sherlock as he strides away.

*

The next time John sees her is over a trolley containing a cantankerous and injured Sherlock in the A&E department. She's wearing scrubs and her scraped back hair is red and fading; he doesn't recognise her at first until she says, far too brightly,

"Good evening Dr Watson, Mr Holmes and to what do we owe the pleasure *this* time?" John stares; he doesn't actually come out with the old chestnut of "you look different with your clothes on" but it's a close run thing and he can tell she's fully aware of that by the not-so-professional grin on her face challenging him to dare it, particularly as the last time he saw her the clothes were more off than on.

He's impressed with the way she deals with Sherlock, who is never at his best in a hospital situation, and grateful when she finds them a room that is little more than a closet big enough for a trolley but still shuts out a lot of the noise, the too-bright lights and the sheer press of people that make up the busy A&E Sherlock becomes much easier to manage when he's not over stimulated and stressed by too many people being present.

"I'm Cally," she says as she disappears out of the door, leaving John and Sherlock alone in their stuffy haven from chaos. It feels like heaven and John takes a deep breath, wondering if he should…

"Don't," Sherlock interrupts his thought before it had even fully formed.

"Don't?" asks John; he can't even bother feeling irritated at Sherlock any more.

"Um-hm," replies Sherlock. "She has a new girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?"

"Yes. It's obvious." Sherlock says nothing else, turns over on the trolley so he's facing away from John and pulls the blanket over his head. Conversation obviously over. They don't speak again until Cally comes back into the room to inform John he can take Sherlock home; he doesn't miss her exasperated but strangely fond smile as she glances at Sherlock.

*

They meet again when John's in the pub with Greg Lestrade and some of the others from the Met. She's sitting alone at the bar, nursing a pint of something that is disturbingly purple and matches her hair. She looks both resigned and disappointed. 

"I'll be 5 minutes," he says to Lestrade, who sighs when he sees who has caught John's attention. John settles onto the stool next to her. "Stood up?" he asks.

"Dumped," she replies. "Didn't like competing with my job." 

"I know how that feels," John says. He's not sure he actually thinks about his next decision or not, but it seems right to him. "Come on over and join us, we can all moan about unsociable jobs together, then." He *knows* it's the right decision when the smile reaches her eyes.

"Don't mind if I do."

They get very, very drunk and they fuck in the alley behind the pub before he puts her in a taxi to go home. He walks back to Baker Street.

Sherlock takes one look at him as he stumbles through the door and almost growls at him.

"Is this going to become a habit?" he asks.

"I don't know." And truth be told, John really *doesn't* know, he doesn't even know if he *wants* it to become a habit. He makes himself tea and crashes on the sofa.

*

He doesn't see her for a while – he and Sherlock have managed to avoid A&E for some time – but she turns up again on a pub night and she looks dreadful. One eye is swollen almost completely shut and her face is purpling around it almost as he looks at her, there's a laceration near her hairline that has been taped up with steri-strips and he assumes she's removed the dressing that covered it herself – probably because it was annoying her as it stuck to her hair. He can see flecks of dried blood against the green of her hair as if she's tried to wash it out but not managed completely.

He pulls her down into a chair at their table, pleased to note that her glass appears to contain nothing stronger than juice.

"Assault in work," she says. Greg opens his mouth to say something and she gives him a lop-sided grimace before he gets a sound out. "Uniforms are already there and I've given my statement."

"Forms filled out in triplicate…" John mutters; he knows what NHS bureaucracy is like. The disgusted noise she makes is answer enough.

Drinks with the guys from the Met are cut short that night and John takes Cally back to Baker Street where *he* gets the blood out of her hair and carefully applies a dressing over the head lac so that it isn't sticking to anything that will pull and cause further trauma to bruised and fragile skin.

He can feel Sherlock watching them from the lounge.

"How long will you take off?" John asks.

"A few days, enough so I can see straight again."

"Then you will just return to the same environment that caused this injury?" Sherlock sounds a hell of lot more interested than John expected him to be. He steps back as Cally shifts so she can see Sherlock better.

"Why shouldn't I? My job is my life," she says simply and John gets that, he really does. Sherlock grunts in reply, then brushes past them on the way to his bedroom. He pauses by the door, looks at them both.

"She's staying here tonight," he says. The bedroom door closes behind him while John is still gaping.

"Oh," he says. It seems that Cally has been given the Sherlock seal of approval; he gives her shoulder a squeeze. "Well if you're staying you can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch." He's trying to be diplomatic, plus she has a head injury and sex wouldn't be the best idea tonight.

"I'm only sleeping in your bed if you're in it too," she says with a snort. John admits defeat and agrees.

Sleeping is all they do and John finds it kind of… nice.

After she leaves the next day he discovers she has put her number in his phone. 

He never calls and only texts her on pub nights.

*

She joins John, with Greg and the other guys from the Met, on pub nights more often than not so he notices when she stops. He knows she's still working in A&E so he puts it out of his mind. 

When she turns up at one pub night with a new girlfriend John realises that's why she's not been around for the last few weeks. Liz is dark, exotic looking and not as loud as Cally but they seem to suit each other. They're at the bar, dark and shocking pink heads close together while they giggle over something and John turns away with a smile to find Greg looking at him with a far too serious expression on his face for a pub night.

"Greg?"

"Do you mind?"

"Mind what?" John follows Greg's gaze over his shoulder to where Liz and Cally are starting to get pretty up close and personal. "Oh. No, I don’t mind. Why should I?"

"I thought you and Cally were… you know."

"Friends with benefits?"

"Yeah."

"Not for a while; we're just friends now."

"Ah." 

John pays Greg a little more attention – the guy is fidgeting in his chair as if he doesn't want to be there but couldn't think of a reason to leave. He assumes Greg is uncomfortable because he wants to ask if it matters that Cally is seeing another woman but doesn't want to ask because mates just don't *do* that. John decides to put Greg out of his misery.

"It makes no difference that she's seeing a woman either, if that's what's bothering you; I knew she was bi." He doesn't tell Greg he initially only knew thanks to Sherlock. "And there's nothing wrong with being bi," he adds, just to make a point.

"I didn't say there was," Greg mumbles. He still looks just as uncomfortable and John sighs; in for a penny, in for a pound…

"Good, 'cause it'd be an insult to me if you did and I'd hate to think you were that narrow minded," he says. 

"What?" Greg is gaping at him but at least he's stopped fidgeting. "You're not gay."

"No, of course I'm not bloody gay, you idiot." John is beginning to understand why Sherlock is always calling Greg Lestrade stupid. "I like women far too much to be gay, I thought that much was obvious at least, but I'm not exactly 100% straight."

"Um. Ah. Good," Greg stutters and John glances up at Greg's face, expecting to see him looking even more uncomfortable than he was before and is surprised by the utter calm of the man and the gentle smile on his face.

"Greg?" John hates that he sounds so unsure but he's beginning to feel a little off centre and pub nights are not supposed to do that; hell, Greg Lestade is not supposed to do that – Greg is... well, *Greg* and what amounts to a constant in John's sometimes chaotic life. The smile on Greg's face widens.

"It just so happens that I'm not exactly 100% straight either."

There's a ripple of movement and John glances down to find Greg's upturned hand resting on the arms of the chairs between them; the invitation is obvious, even to him. There's a decision to be made, and quickly too, for John knows that this opportunity will likely pass and never be repeated; Greg Lestrade is too proud for that. He doesn't hesitate, he's used to making life-altering decisions on the fly after all, and carefully links his fingers through Greg's; they feel as if they belong there. For a moment he just sits and looks at their entwined fingers, he can feel the smile spreading over his face. When John looks back up at Greg *his* smile has turned into a full on shit-eating grin and his brown eyes are positively smouldering, which precipitates a previously unanticipated reversal in the blood flow to John's brain; it hits him like a sledgehammer.

"Fuck." He doesn't realise he's actually said that aloud until Greg laughs softly.

"Not here. Back to mine?"

The low voice is like a punch to his gut – only in a good way. Jesus. Totally unanticipated reaction but not unwanted, he realises that now, definitely not unwanted.

"Yes," John whispers. "Yes, why not?"

John grabs his stuff in double quick time, but still manages to lag behind Greg as they leave. He's delayed for a moment longer by a familiar hand on his arm; Cally, grinning fit to split her face.

"About time too," she says. "I bet he's a snuggler – Liz disagrees. Prove her wrong, John, hmm?"

"I'll try," he assures her, looking forward to the attempt. She sends him on his way with a pat to his backside that only makes him grin even more.

*

The bed is a wreck and they are in a tangled, breathless, sweaty, sticky and sated heap when John gets his definitive proof; Greg doesn't turn away, just snuggles in impossibly closer, one hand gently resting over the scar on John's shoulder. John smiles into Greg's hair and tries to decide if he can be bothered struggling to reach his phone so he can take a picture but the gentle press of lips to his skin dissuades him; he doesn't want to disturb this moment with something so trivial. He lets himself drift, wrapped in and around Greg, the thunder of their hearts the best music he has heard for a long, long time.

~E~

Footnote: 

1) Tension pneumothorax can result from blunt chest trauma and is a medical emergency as it can cause circulatory collapse and cardiac arrest. A nurse experienced in emergency care and a doctor trained in trauma medicine/surgery would be able to recognise and decompress a tension pneumothorax (as would a trained paramedic).


End file.
